It’s simple. It’s a harbinger of a happy home: cleanliness. OK, maybe not so clean it passes the microscope test. Clear lines, smudgeless windows, lack of obvious crumbs and dust. This is a peaceful state. In a house full of teens, this status is rarely reached. However, I had a moment last night where, under the mellow glow of the moon, the house appeared clean. I felt finished.
Seriously? I’ve reduced my sense of happiness to a deficit of dirt? I’m too tired to care about the pathetic-ness of that statement. I’ll sleep easy until I awake to a dirty house. (The teens are prowling and eating and imprinting their vivacity everywhere I erased it today. It’s nice to be re-purposed day to day.)